


On the Way There

by zarabithia



Category: DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: M/M, background Dick/Roy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 15:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13460802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: When Kon’s hands first wrapped firmly around Tim’s waist, Tim simply chalked it up to the curviness of the road in question.  Tim pushed away the wants that sprang up with Kon’s touch. He simply narrowed his eyes behind the mask and continued on his route.Admittedly, his breath might have hitched slightly at that first touch, but it wasn’t as though Kon was that observant when it came to clues concerning how he made Tim feel.Besides, the bike didn’t swerve a bit.





	On the Way There

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: ""Tim Drake (Robin)/anyone you want - All I want is somebody on the bike with Tim, while on patrol or coming home from patrol, and there needs to be enough fondling of the Tim, who is of course driving, that he comes in his pants. Yay!" "

“Want to explain again why we’re _driving_ to Bludhaven?”  Kon asked, fully annoyed.  Kon frequently looked annoyed at Tim’s plans, however, so this was nothing new.  Dick claimed they were simply carrying on traditions laid down by Superman and Batman. Tim rarely doubted Dick, but that was one of those rare occasions in which Tim was willing to do so.

“Because we want to keep you under Batman’s radar. You can fly once we reach Nightwing’s city. He won’t care.”

Kon gave a long suffering sigh and glared at the bike.  “It’s not made for two, Robin,” he protested. “What happened to the car?” 

“The Red Bird is being repaired.”  That tended to be a necessary step for a car, once it had been crashed into a brick wall. Twice.

“Can’t we just _tell_ Batman that I had a legitimate reason to be in Gotham this time?”

“As much as I appreciate your help in catching the abusive johns, Kon. . . it’s _Batman_.” With that, Tim slid onto his bike.  “Of course, if you really want to stay here and chat with him, feel free.”

“No, I do not want to stay here and chat with the goddamn Batman.”  Kon jumped onto the bike behind Tim and promptly continued to complain.  “Where exactly am I supposed to put my hands?”

“Most people hold onto the driver, Kon.”

“Look, I might be dressed like a gay prostitute, but in case you’ve forgotten, I’m neither gay nor a prostitute.”

It was Tim’s turn to glare. “Fine. Put your hands on the rear end.”

“Still not gay.”

“Of the bike, Kon. Geez, I had no idea you were such a homophobe.”

“Hey!  I’m not a homopho-”  Kon’s words were lost as the engine thundered to life.

Over the hum of the bike, Kon remained determined to prove his point.  “I am _not_ a homophobe,”  he shouted.  “I mean, really, I work with Gar, for God’s sake. How could I possibly be a homophobe and work with him?”

Tim guided the bike out of the alley onto Oak Street and accelerated.  “Sorry - did you say something?”  He shouted in an exaggerated fashion over the noise of the bike.

“Yes!  I said-”

“Can’t hear you.”  There was no real reason to lie to Kon, of course. Unless one counted the fact that Kon had looked so _smug_ in his little get-up, gazing down at him. Then there was the snide little comment about Tim’s _enthusiasm_ in this particular activity. 

Of course, there was the fact that Tim had bitten down hard on his tongue to keep from responding to Kon’s enthusiasm jibe with a comment about Kon’s IQ level. Because any idiot could tell how much enthusiasm Tim had for Kon whenever they were together but Kon was always totally oblivious.

It really might have been _that_ reason that drove Tim to ignore Kon as he drove them around the curves of Oak Street towards the highway that lead them out of Gotham. 

When Kon’s hands first wrapped firmly around Tim’s waist, Tim simply chalked it up to the curviness of the road in question.  Tim pushed away the wants that sprang up with Kon’s touch. He simply narrowed his eyes behind the mask and continued on his route. 

Admittedly, his breath might have hitched slightly at that first touch, but it wasn’t as though Kon was that observant when it came to clues concerning how he made Tim feel.

Besides, the bike didn’t swerve a bit.

Tim continued to suppress the automatic want that threatened to surface as Kon’s hands slid lower and came to rest on the lowest portion of Tim’s hips. But Tim merely believed that his teammate was trying to get comfortable  - a belief which Kon’s squirming behind him seemed to bear out.

Thus, the bike _still_ didn’t swerve.

Kon’s hands continued to travel, however, and Tim grew less certain that his wanderings had anything to do with “getting comfortable.”  Tim certainly wasn’t comfortable - Kon’s actions were making it increasingly uncomfortable to sit still.

The discomfort continued to grow as Kon’s fingers groped somewhat clumsily at the top of Tim’s leg before moving inward to caress the inside of Tim’s thighs.

Tim gripped the handle bars more tightly, but the bike didn’t swerve.

Kon’s hesitance turned to assurance and his massage grew firmer.   Kon’s hands weren’t drawing patterns, exactly,  but neither were they casual wanderings.  The caresses were long strokes deliberately placed in just the right spots to made Tim’s cock harden and his legs melt.  

Tim could feel the warmth of Kon’s fingers through his costume’s material. Though practicality demanded the leggings of Tim’s costume be lighter than the body armor that protected his torso, an ordinary person’s touch probably wouldn’t have penetrated the material.

But, in the words of the cheesy Corona commercials, Kon was miles away from ordinary, wasn’t he?

As Kon’s hands kept moving from Tim’s inner thigh to the top of his leg and up to Tim’s lower hips, Tim became increasingly uncomfortable. His dick strained against two layers of protection - protection Tim was usually grateful for  - and the added pressure of the bike’s seat bouncing against his erection as they flew down the ramp onto the highway actually *hurt.* 

But the bike still didn’t swerve.

After all, it was a nice kind of hurt. It was the kind of hurt that Tim was memorizing every excruciating detail of so that the memory could be recalled later, when Tim was alone and there was no body armor restraining him.

Stupid body armor.

Tim was _pretty_ sure he only thought that last sentence, but he may have mumbled it, at least loud enough for Kon to hear, because within minutes there was a tugging followed by a snapping of the red body armor covering his crotch.

The green material remained in place, thankfully, but it didn’t detour Kon’s plans in the slightest.  Kon’s hands slipped around the base of Tim’s already rigid cock and stroked purposefully towards the tip.

Tim gritted his teeth and again gripped the handles, but the bike didn’t swerve.

Kon’s left hand continued to circle around the tip, already moist with precome. Tim didn’t have time to miss the presence of Kon’s right hand before it found its’ way back to Tim’s inner thigh, where it promptly resumed tracing patterns. 

Except that these were *real* patterns, with a definite purpose.  Thus, despite the fact that Kon’s other hand was continuing to make driving straight incredibly difficult, Tim tried to pay attention.

“D-O-Y-O-U-W-A-N-T-M-E-T-O-S-T-O-P-?”

The answer to Kon’s question should have been yes. They were, after all, still on a very public road. They were still a lot closer to Batman’s city than Nightwing’s, and if Batman ever found out. . .

But the road was nearly abandoned this early in the morning.  Not to mention, Kon’s proximity had molded Tim’s cape close enough to Tim’s body that it did a pretty good job of hiding Kon’s hand movements. The still attached, albeit loosely flapping, body armor did a decent job of hiding Kon’s actions as well. 

“No,” came Tim’s response.  It wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear over the roar of the engine - anyone except Superboy.

Kon scooted even closer to Tim, which allowed Tim to feel the glorious fullness of Kon’s own erection pressed against his backside. 

But the bike still didn’t swerve.

Both hands began jerking Tim off in earnest. The texture of the fabric combined with Kon’s hands made even a Bat-trained Tim struggle with the ability to breathe evenly.  By the time Kon’s head bent forward and pressed his lips to the skin beneath Tim’s helmet, Tim had completely lost the battle. 

His breathing might have come in little hitches, but the bike didn’t swerve. 

Vaguely, Tim cursed at his own helmet, which prevented Kon’s mouth from having better access.  Even more vaguely, Tim wondered what Kon had done with the helmet Tim had given him.

Yeah, they’d have to have a chat about that later.

As Kon’s teeth replaced his lips on Tim’s neck, Kon’s hands increased their speed. Tim squeezed the handle bars so tightly that he was sure both hands were cotton-white underneath his Robin-green gloves.  Or maybe they were red, because Tim wasn’t sure that the wet substance on his palms wasn’t blood from gripping too hard, though it might have been sweat. 

Tim felt a momentary burst of disappointment when Kon’s left hand again abandoned Tim’s crotch and wrapped around his waist instead.  But he was close enough to release that two hands really weren’t necessary.  Likewise, Tim was very thankful for Kon’s steady grip on his waist when the friction of the suit and Kon’s jerks became too much for Tim’s body. It was immensely difficult for Tim to remain on the bike’s seat as his lower body involuntarily bucked into Kon’s remaining willing hand. They were outside, in the open, so Tim couldn’t very well moan in appreciation of Kon’s efforts. But he could part his lips and allow a grunt to escape his clenched teeth - a grunt that only Kon could hear.  

The bike _did_ swerve a little as Tim came, but Tim was totally willing to blame that on Kon’s jerking movements behind him.   Regardless, no one was hurt when the bike swerved, and Tim resumed his course before the wetness in his pants had time to start to get cold. 

Kon gently pushed the red body armor out of the way before writing, “I-T-O-L-D-Y-O-U-I-M-N-O-T-A-H-O-M-O-P-H-O-B” on the top of Tim’s leg with his hand.  Both hands then returned to Tim’s waist, where they remained platonically in place for the duration of the ride.

By the time they’d finally reached Bludhaven, the wetness in the front of Tim’s pants had cooled and became decidedly itchy.  As they pulled to a stop, it took all of Tim’s willpower not to lean down and scratch. 

“Kon?”

“Yeah?”  Kon looked weary- as he should, since now that they were stopped, Tim could hurt him.

“Homophobe ends with an ‘e.’”

“Good to know, Wonder Boy. I’m sure I’ll use that back at Smallville High English class someday.”  Kon tossed Tim one last smirk before lifting up and flying away.

Sometimes, Kon really was an arrogant bastard.  But since Kon’s arrogance had led to the best sexual experience of Tim’s life to date, Tim didn’t think he should complain about it. 

Tim felt Nightwing land behind him, but stubbornly refused to turn around.  He _couldn’t_ \- not with the shape the body armor was in, not with the sight of dried come on a remake of a costume _Dick had worn in the circus_.

“Was that Superboy’s new costume?” 

Tim _almost_ didn’t giggle.  “No.  He went undercover with me.”

“Abusive johns?”

Tim turned to look at Dick in surprise.  “How-?”

Dick shrugged lazily. “His outfit kinda gave it away.  Want to come in before you head back to Gotham?” 

Oh, no. He didn’t need to be in any room that had a bright light where Dick could see the mess on the front of his costume.  Or, the mess that was most likely on the cape of his costume.  “That’s okay.  It’s kinda late.”

“Um, Tim.”  Dick moved forward and placed a light hand on his shoulder.  “I really think you should come in and shower first. You kind of . . . smell.”

“Oh.”  Oh, hell.  Not only did Dick know that he’d defiled the costume based on the one _Dick’s parents had designed,_ but he knew that Tim had done so _while he was on patrol._

Tim was the worst Robin ever.

“Hey.”  Dick’s hand moved to Tim’s head where it gave an affectionate rub. “There’s nothing to feel guilty about.  While I’m not exactly sure what happened between Gotham and here, I’m sure of two things.  One, it was entirely Superboy’s fault. Two, Superboy could never come up with something  Roy Harper hasn’t pulled.”

“Yeah?”  Because as disturbing of a mental picture as that was. . . it was kind of comforting at the same time.

“At least twice.” 

“ _Twice_?”

Dick shrugged and grinned down at him. “We’ve known each other a long time.” 

Tim followed Dick into his apartment, privately very thankful for each and every one of Roy Harper’s perversions.

. . . And Kon.

. . . And Kon’s perversions, too.

. . . And the knowledge that by already planning a repeat performance of the bike jerk off session, Tim was merely carrying on a long line of Titan tradition.     



End file.
